


For Me, It Happens All The Time

by jowritesfiction



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jowritesfiction/pseuds/jowritesfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beca ends up with the Kommissar’s phone number after the Riff-Off party and they can’t stop texting each other witty remarks and occasional photos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Picture perfect memories scattered

It started after the riff-off in the creepy dude’s basement. At some point in the night, after a few too many drinks to wash out the bad taste of losing, Beca strayed away from the other Bellas. The Treblemakers retired early because they had a real competition the next day, and Beca somehow managed to find herself wedged between a wall and the Kommissar in a dimly lit corner.

And it wasn’t as though she wasn’t enjoying the view.

“Your breasts are magnificent.” Beca mumbled, and then mentally face-palmed, because this was dangerous territory. She may have been under the influence of a few wickedly potent drinks, and staring directly at the barely covered chest of her German nemesis, but she really needed to reel in her compulsive, flirty compliments.

“What was that, tiny maus?” Kommissar asked, her smile wide.

Mirroring her smile, Beca shook her head. She was glad she had gotten away with it, but still felt a flush to her cheeks regardless. “I said you were magnificent. Tonight. You sang well. Good dancing. You were magnificent.” She managed, hiding one compliment behind a couple extra ones. If only Chloe could see her now.

“I’ve always liked that word. Magnificent. It’s _großartig_ in German.” She said simply.

“Or _herrlich_ or _prächtig_ or _ausgezeichnet_.” Beca replied, watching Kommissar’s expression change from smug to a flash of surprise.

“ _Du sprichst Deutsch_?” She asked, her eyebrow cocked, and a hand on her hip.

Beca smiled at that, immediately able to translate the question, because she did in fact speak German. Not very much if she was being honest, and definitely less with the amount of drinks inside of her, but either way she was glad she could impress the beautiful woman in front of her. Kommissar seemed like a difficult person to impress.

“ _Spärlich_.” She answered honestly, and watched the woman give her a slight nod. Her German was sparse – a couple classes in middle school and high school, and an intro class at Barden. It was enough to be a tourist, but there was no chance she could keep up a real conversation.

Kommissar took a sip of her drink, while Beca tried to slyly take her in. Her hair was still pristine and her makeup was fresh, but there was a glassy quality to her eyes and a flush on her chest and cheeks that had Beca realizing that the leader of DSM was also feeling the effects of the alcohol coursing through her system. At least they were on an even playing field.

“You were – ah – magnificent also tonight. Not as much as me, but you fared well, tiny maus. Das Sound Machine may actually have some competition come Worlds.” She said softly, invading Beca’s personal space as she tucked a strand of dark hair behind Beca’s ear. Beca inhaled sharply as she felt Kommissar’s fingertip just barely grazing her ear.

Beca stammered out some kind of comment about the Bella’s rising to the challenge, and Kommissar asked if she would need a step ladder. They fell into an easy conversation filled with awkward semi-flirty compliments on Beca’s part and witty sexually charged quips from Kommissar. At some point Beca’s phone fell out of her hands when she became distracted by Kommissar’s hips swaying from side to side to the beat. Then Kommissar picked up her phone, trying to find out the password while Beca rolled her eyes and told her to take her “impossibly beautiful” hands off her phone.

That was the last thing she remembered before she woke up the next morning to her phone going off and Fat Amy singing Wrecking Ball in the shower.


	2. all around the floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [message sent] = Beca texting  
> [message received] = Kommissar texting

Glancing at her phone, Beca scanned her text messages from the night before and groaned. Not only had she sent a handful of wildly confusing texts to Chloe and Fat Amy about Kommissar’s too blonde hair and sparkly eyes, but she sent Jesse a couple pictures of her elbow and a very drunk selfie at 3 in the morning. That wasn’t even the worst part. Apparently she had a new contact in her phone named Kommissar.

And they had texted each other.

Right there in front of her was a whole conversation about Kommissar’s mesh top and songs that Das Sound Machine should have sang for the country love category. She skimmed the list of songs, proud that even with a plethora of drinks in her system she could manage some of the hits like Whose Beds Have Your Boots Been Under and The Devil Went Down to Georgia and Chicken Fried. Well this was embarrassing.

Scanning the messages, she scrolled to the very top of their conversation, not wanting to deal with this while she was so hungover. She wanted to see when this all began because last night was still mostly a blur after her and the Kommissar were off to the side talking. There was a memory in which she felt the tiniest brush against her ear when the tall German tucked her dark hair away from her face. And then Beca dropped her phone at some point and the Kommissar had grabbed it and due to the unfair height advantage, Beca was unable to retrieve her phone before Kommissar was typing away at it.

> [message sent 1:12 am] *mouse emoji*

So that’s what she had done. She took Beca’s phone to add herself as a contact and texted her own phone a mouse emoji. At least Beca hadn’t been a drunken fool and asked for her number. That would have been embarrassing. Glancing back at her phone, she felt a hot blush spread across her neck and cheeks. Oh God.

> [message received 1:27 am] Now I have you, little mouse.  
>  [message sent 1:29 am] Oh yeah, and what are you going to do with me? ;) Have your way…?  
>  [message received 1:32 am] You are feisty.

The next text came just over an hour later.

> [message received 2:34 am] Have you scurried home, mouse?  
>  [message sent 2:41 am] Bellas got my back. Am home. Many thanks.  
>  [message received 2:44 am] Glad to see that we’ll have a chance to battle again. ;) As you didn’t get lost on your way home.  
>  [message sent 2:53 am] You’re going down at Worlds. We’re gonna kick your ass.  
>  [message received 2:58 am] You are so much more aggressive texting than in person.

And then Beca sent a couple text messages on the wardrobe choices for Das Sound Machine – which really whittled down to Beca complimenting Kommissar’s belly button and approval of see-through mesh. Most of the texts back from Kommissar were question marks and smiley faces, which meant she probably couldn’t decipher Beca’s drunk rambling. Even through text message she couldn’t help but send flirty compliments when she meant competitive banter. Honestly.

The conversation turned to country songs that DSM should have sang and the messages stopped sometime after four in the morning. Which meant she had spent over an hour texting back and forth with her sworn enemy. At least the majority of it was still banter. Semi-suggestive, flirty, highly complementary banter. But still banter.

> [message received 7:58 am] Pleasant dreams, little mouse?

Beca paused, staring at the flashing message that just came to her phone. She assumed their little texting was a one night drunk thing and she didn’t know what this meant. Why was she commenting on dreams? Oh God. Did she text something embarrassing about dreams? At least now she was sober and could filter herself better in text messages.

> [message sent 8:03 am] Ummm… what?!  
>  [message received 8:04 am] Did you dream of actually winning something – I feel it will be the only time that comes true.  
>  [message sent 8:04 am] I am a three time National Acapella Champion.  
>  [message received 8:04 am] It is so adorable that you think that is impressive.  
>  [message sent 8:04 am] Yeah well, I am still half asleep and far too hungover to spar with you via text.

She sent the other messages in rapid succession, a smile on her face despite the hangover raging throughout her body. Groaning, she could hear Fat Amy in the bathroom still finishing the last verse of Wrecking Ball and transitioning into Fat Bottom Girls. Beca managed a laugh before she rolled over in her bed and waited for Kommissar to text her back. After ten minutes and no response (and her emails all checked and a couple page of Buzzfeed articles read), she finally caved and sent another message.

> [message sent 8:14 am] Aren’t you hungover?  
>  [message received 8:15 am] No.

Right. Well of course. Of course she wouldn’t be hungover because she was perfect. And probably rehearsing with her team or causing mass riots in the neighbourhood due to her bright smile and perfect teeth. And Beca needed to snap out of it. It made sense for the woman to be in her head when she was in front of her, but they were just texting and Beca needed to compose herself. And have a shower. And get ready for her classes and the internship.

It wasn’t until she was back at campus that Beca received another text message from the Kommissar. Beca had already managed a full day, classes in the morning, a practice at lunch and an afternoon spend at the studio before she managed to get some studying done at the library. After over ten hours without a single message, Beca once again assumed their little bantering was done. Of course the blonde would want to get the final word.

> [message received 8:39 pm] I just enjoyed the best meal with my team at Dave & Buster’s thanks to that gift card. I won so many silly toys. I could mail one to you. A consolation prize.  
>  [message sent 8:41 pm] I thought you would think it was ‘beneath you’. Glad to see you can appreciate some actual American culture.

Beca rolled her eyes and fired out a not-quite-so-threatening text as she greeted her fellow Bellas at the door. Passing Fat Amy and Cynthia Rose who were currently in an arm wrestling match, Beca sauntered over to the kitchen. Chloe had made some kind of healthy vegetarian chili and Beca made herself a quick bowl, knowing it wouldn’t taste as good as the nachos at D & B’s.

> [message received 8:50 pm] It is different than I expected. Some of the games were almost fun.  
>  [message sent 8:51 pm] I’m surprised you even know that word: fun.  
>  [message received 8:51 pm] There is a lot you don’t know about me, little mouse.

Beca rolled her eyes, tucking her phone into her pocket as she sat at the counter and picked at her chili. There was a lot she didn’t know about the leader of DSM. She didn’t know why she was so damn attractive. Or why she felt the need to be so smug about her obvious talent. And she didn’t know what she did on her downtime. She didn’t know her favorite color or her parent’s names. Or her name. Beca didn’t even know her name.

Whipping her phone out of her pocket, she quickly composed a text asking “Kommissar” what her name was. After all, it only made sense to know her enemy’s name, right? It was for scientific reasons – for research. It wasn’t like she wanted a name to be able to refer to the beautiful blonde woman other than by her intimidating title. Okay, so it may have been a bit of the later.

> [message received 9:03 pm] You just hit the head of the nail.  
>  [message sent 9:04 pm] Hit the nail on the head.  
>  [message received 9:05 pm] Isn’t that what I said? Honestly. I don’t understand some of your crazy American sayings.

There was a smile etched across her lips as she finished her late dinner, and trudged up to her room. With her clothes of the day taken off and thrown at the bottom of her bed, Beca threw on an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. She quickly scoped out the closest bathroom (which was actually free), and dashed in, knowing that the bathroom never stayed free for long in their place. Washing her face, she hummed Jump, Jump, before she stopped suddenly and rinsed her face.

The woman had never answered her question. Running back to her bedroom, Beca fished her phone from her denim pockets and sent out a quick message to Kommissar. She just wanted to know.

> [message sent 9:27 pm] Aren’t you going to tell me your name?  
>  [message received 9:29 pm] Not tonight.

Right. Well she was just going to have to try again tomorrow.


End file.
